Short Fiction by R. A. Lafferty (buy e reader TXT) 📕

“There is something bothering you, Pete,” I said. “You have a bad disposition. That can come only from a bad digestion or a bad conscience.”

“I have both,” said Pete. “The first is because I bolt my food. The second is because⁠—well, I forget the reason, but it’s my conscience.”

“Think hard, Pete. Why have you a bad conscience?”

“Snakes always have bad consciences. We have forgotten the crime, but we remember the guilt.”

“Perhaps you should seek advice from someone, Pete.”

“I kind of think it was someone’s smooth advice that started us on all this. He talked the legs right off us.”

Billy Wilkins came to the cage with another “man,” as the walking grubs call themselves.

“That it?” asked the other man. “And you say it can talk?”

“Of course I talk,” I answered for Billy Wilkins. “I have never known a creature who couldn’t talk in some manner. My name is George Albert Leroy Ellery McIntosh. I don’t believe that I heard yours, sir.”

“Bracken. Blackjack Bracken. I was telling Billy here that if he really had a blob that could talk, I might be able to use it in my night club. We could have you here at the Snake Ranch in the daytime for the tourists and kids. Then I could have you at the club at night. We could work out an act. Do you think you could learn to play the guitar?”

“Probably. But it would be much easier for me merely to duplicate the sound.”

“But then how could you sing and make guitar noise at the same time?”

“You surely don’t think I am limited to one voice box?”

“Oh. I didn’t know. What’s that big metal ball you have there?”

“That’s my communication sphere, to record my thoughts. I would not be without it. When in danger, I swallow it. When in extreme danger, I will have to escape to a spot where I have concealed my ejection mortar, and send my sphere into the galactic drift on a chance that it may be found.”

“That’s no kind of gag to put in an act. What I have in mind is something like this.”

Blackjack Bracken told a joke. It was a childish one and in poor taste.

“I don’t believe that is quite my style,” I said.

“All right, what would you suggest?”

“I thought that I might lecture your patrons on the Higher Ethic.”

“Look, George Albert, my patrons don’t even have the lower ethic.”

“And just what sort of recompense are we talking about?” I asked.

“Billy and I had about settled on a hundred and fifty a week.”

“A hundred and fifty for whom?”

“Why, for Billy.”

“Let us make it a hundred and fifty for myself, and ten percent for Billy as my agent.”

“Say, this blob’s real smart, isn’t he, Billy?”

“Too smart.”

“Yes, sir, George Albert, you’re one smart blob. What kind of contract have you signed with Billy here?”

“No contract.”

“Just a gentlemen’s agreement?”

“No agreement.”

“Billy, you can’t hold him in a cage without a contract. That’s slavery. It’s against the law.”

“But, Blackjack, a blob isn’t people.”

“Try proving that in court. Will you sign a contract with me, George Albert?”

“I will not dump Billy. He befriended me and gave me a home with the turtles and snakes. I will sign a joint contract with the two of you. We will discuss terms tomorrow⁠—after I have estimated the attendance both here and at the night club.”

Of the walking grubs (who call themselves “people”) there are two kinds, and they place great emphasis on the difference. From this stems a large part of their difficulties. This distinction, which is one of polarity, cuts quite across the years and ability and station of life. It is not confined only to the people grubs, but also involves apparently all the beings on the planet Florida.

It appears that a person is committed to one or the other polarity at the beginning of life, maintaining that polarity until death. The interlocking attraction-repulsion complex set up by these two opposable types has deep emotional involvements. It is the cause of considerable concern and disturbance, as well as desire and inspiration. There is a sort of poetic penumbra about the whole thing that tends to disguise its basic simplicity, expressible as a simultaneous polarity equation.

Complete segregation of the two types seems impossible. If it has ever been tried, it has now evidently been abandoned as impractical.

There is indeed an intangible difference between the two types, so that before that first day at the Reptile Ranch was finished, I was able to differentiate between the two more than ninety percent of the time. The knowledge of this difference in polarity seems to be intuitive.

These two I will call the Beta and Gamma, or Boy and Girl, types. I began to see that this opposability of the two types was one of the great driving forces of the people.

In the evening I was transported to the night club and I was a success. I would not entertain them with blue jokes or blue lyrics, but the patrons seemed fascinated by my simple imitations of all the instruments of the orchestra and my singing of comic ballads that Eustace had taught me in odd moments that day. They were also interested in the way that I drank gin⁠—that is, emptying the bottle without breaking the seal. (It seems that the grub-people are unable to absorb a liquid without making direct contact with it.)

And I met Margaret, one of the “girl” singers.

I had been wondering to which type of people I might show affinity. Now I knew. I was definitely a Beta type, for I was attracted to Margaret, who was unmistakably a Gamma. I began to understand the queer effect that these types have on each other.

She came over to my cage.

“I want to rub your head for good luck before I go on,” she said.

“Thank you, Margaret,” I replied, “but that is not my head.”

She sang with incomparable sadness, with all the sorrow and sordidness that appear to be the lot of unfortunate Gammas. It